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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651704">Keep Me Close</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItFeelsSoWrite/pseuds/ItFeelsSoWrite'>ItFeelsSoWrite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Queen of Thieves (Voltage Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Sex Toys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:26:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,948</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItFeelsSoWrite/pseuds/ItFeelsSoWrite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vivienne's rooftop declaration is only one half of the surprise she has lined up for Eloise, springing the other half on her before the Poppy leaves for Paris. It's an important contact, one Eloise would be a fool not to make. But Vivienne's motivations aren't entirely altruistic; part of this gesture is a gift to herself. That is, if Eloise is up to the additional challenge. Will Eloise be able to keep her focus and maintain her cover with Vivienne behind the controls and inside her ear?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Vivienne Tang/Main Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 3, 2, 1 . . .</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>These events take place mid-episode 4.12, right before departing Barcelona to Paris. Intended as a two-parter, could be talked into a trilogy depending . . .</p><p>MCs name is Eloise.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After being dragged so deeply into Inez' lair, I am eager to finally be leaving Barcelona.</p><p> (A thought I never thought I'd have, honestly. And one I'll keep to myself at family reunions.)</p><p>Knowing it's Paris we're moving to next only makes me more eager for our flight tomorrow. Usually the Poppy charter a private jet for the lot of us, but for this return trip, Vivienne has insisted on a private plane for two. With the fireworks display earlier tonight, I can't help but think it's all part of the same 'heist'. It even feels somewhat . . . marital. The declaration of love alight in every language we've ever crooned to one another. Getting away by plane the morning after, taking us to beautiful Paris, where this -- us -- started. I would say it would be the perfect proposal . . . if the timing felt right. </p><p>Stashing away my nerves at the prospect and what the very implication of having them might mean, I dismiss my admittedly traditional understanding of love and ceremony and turn to what every good Catholic girl is told not to; sex.</p><p>(Someone wants to join the Mile High Club. That, or wants <em>me</em> to join. Given Vivienne's globetrotter status, it really is <em>up in the air</em> whether she's beaten me to it.)</p><p>This is the line of thought I'm entertaining when I feel Vivienne's full weight join the bed, dipping around my sides as she crawls on all fours above me, peering over my shoulder.</p><p>(She's worse than Elizabeth, honestly.) I smile in amusement and place my charcoal nub down, knowing I won't be making another stroke -- at least in my sketchbook -- until Vivienne has had her acknowledgement. She lowers her weight evenly against me with a precision only <strong>The</strong> Cat Woman should be able to achieve, making me wonder until I feel her breath stir hot at the back of my ear.</p><p>"I'd ask what you are drawing, but you stopped a little while ago. Now I'm more curious . . . where did you go?" I glance back at her, folding my arms beneath my chin, relaxing shoulders I hadn't realized had grown stiff in my sky-high stupor. I flash her a devilish grin, a non-verbal "wouldn't you like to know?" that has her lift her weight from me, scandalized to have to work for the answer. It's a ploy she can only keep up for a moment, the eagerness with which she spurs me on betraying her delight at the obstacles I am giving her. She presses against me again all at once, but harder, hips rolling with a particularly honed purpose against the apple of my ass. Then she murmurs at my ear again, punctuating with teeth, "Won't you tell me, dulzura?"</p><p>I shiver beneath her and promptly give up the goat -- I mean, give up the <em>game</em>. </p><p>"About 5,280 feet in the air." Vivienne purrs approvingly, nuzzling against my crown. It's difficult to see her, so I quit trying and relax more fully beneath her. She's light and heavy in all the right places, slotted against my curves as if we were carved from the same marble. I breathe deep and easy, a low-simmering pleasure keeping me as sedated as it does alive.</p><p>"So you would say you're in a good mood, then?" Vivienne's question strikes me as suspicious, leading. I let her lead me anyway.</p><p>"Yeeeees? Why?" I hear Vivienne scoff behind me, then feel her sit up. My protest becomes a moan when I feel her palms knead deep into the tension at my nape.</p><p>(I'm being buttered up; or dumbed down. Or both.) </p><p>"Our private plane, it's leaving a little later than the Poppy's jet."</p><p>"Oh. Well, sure. Different pilots, different flight plans."</p><p>"It's leaving later because you and I have one last bit of business to attend to bright and early tomorrow morning." Me eyes widen, then narrow.</p><p>"How early?" Vivienne laughs, delighted by something I can't peg until she names it.</p><p>"That's your first question? How early? It is fortunate you're Cuban, amor. How you would ever greet the sun without your morning cafecito, I could not say." I smirk against the mattress, shrugging my shoulders beneath Vivienne's idly-massaging hands, then try a different question as prompted.</p><p>"What's the business?" Vivienne purrs, tracing a heart against my skin with a neatly-trimmed nail. It feels like victory, and the reward is news I can hardly believe.</p><p>"I've arranged a meet and greet for you with an old acquaintance of mine. She was a fledgling art restorer last I was here in Barcelona. Curious, I looked her up when we arrived. Turns out she's made quite a name for herself as curator of a number of exhibits throughout Spain. I showed her a sample of your work and said many complimentary things, but nothing, I think, more convincing than your art the way she asked to see more. Tomorrow is the earliest she could manage a meeting, but she very much wants to access your portfolio, Eloise. Breakfast at Gigi Von Tapas, 9 a.m. sharp. Is this something you would like to do?"</p><p>"Wait." I sit up as much as I am able, which is very little with Vivienne still sat on my seat. I reach back and tap her upper thigh twice before she interprets the signal and transfers her weight to her knees, allowing me to twist beneath her. Propping up closer to her by the elbows, I search her eyes for some catch. She stares steadfastly back at me, no trick, only treat. "You mean it. You mean it! Vivienne, oh my god, you <em>pimped</em> me out!" Vivienne's eyes startle wide. Whatever she expected me to say, it wasn't that. A protest is forming at her parting mouth as I throw my arms around her neck and drag her down atop me, falling back against the mattress. I press my forehead to hers and intercept with the sincerity I think she was anticipating earlier, "You have so much faith in my art, you pitched me to a curator. Vivienne Tang, the ways you say 'I love you' . . ."</p><p>"Mmm, does that mean you'd like to?" Vivienne murmurs, eyes still sifting through the tangle of emotions in mine anxiously. I understand now to plan everything and keep it a secret, Vivienne had to operate on the assumption that I would want this. She's anxious for all the liberties she's taken and she needn't be. I am just so overwhelmed, but I see now so is she, and so I assure her as thoroughly as I can. </p><p>"Yes, Vivienne, yes! How could I let an opportunity like this pass me by? I'm just-- oh man, <em>tomorrow</em>? My portfolio is a mess. I would've varied some of my recent technique if I--" Vivienne silences me with a gentle kiss, almost feather-light until my quick-switch train of thought ensnares her lips more completely. She indulges me for a moment more, then pulls away and commands my eyes to hers with a press of her finger beneath my chin.</p><p>"Your portfolio is perfect. Exactly what it didn't need was piece upon piece of over-thought, over-tailored studies. I like the sketches that come from you when you simply can't help yourself. The things you think other people wouldn't care to see." I'm struck speechless. Vivienne has always shown a casual interest in my art, graduated to invested participation any time she gets to be my subject, but we've never talked about my pursuing a career outside of the Poppy. It never occurred to me I could have a presence outside of them without risking my identity, but then, Inez had cracked that complication, hadn't she?</p><p>(Ugh. The sooner that woman's name is out of my head, the better.) I don't want to think of Inez. I want to think of Vivienne, so I focus on the reverence in her eyes and let her praise sink deep. </p><p>"Mmm, so does this mystery woman from your past have a name like the others?" Vivienne swats at my cheek with a petulant scoff, straightening up and crossing her arms in protest around her middle. </p><p>"You focus on all the wrong details, and the way you say 'thank you' is very peculiar . . ." Vivienne's frown is so distressing, I immediately feel like the glitter at the bottom of Jett's boot and am ready to walk back what I said, until she twists away from me, long torso stretching the length of the mattress to reach the drawer of her nightstand. I follow her reach to see what she's retrieving, but the angle is poor and Vivienne's hands are swift. She returns above me, eclipsing the overhead light,  both hands now behind her back and a frisky smile on her lips.</p><p>"Wazzat?" I ask, making a show of moving my head this way and that to peer behind her. She grins, and I know I am playing the right way again.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"That." I curl up and reach, first with my right hand, then my left, then both at once in a pincer after Vivienne's avoided my first two attempts. In the struggle, she's relaxed more of her weight back atop me, and I feel each twist of her body rough and dizzying against my hips and center. After half a minute, I'm gasping half from effort, half from friction, and no closer to unveiling what's behind door letter 'V'.</p><p>"This?" Vivienne finally gives in -- only to show me a non-descript silk cinch bag, black and palm-sized.</p><p>"Open it!" I huff in exasperation, earning a throaty chuckle from Vivienne. She uncinches the bag, disappears her fingers within, and opens that beautiful, delaying mouth of hers.</p><p>"Aren't you curious how I factor into all of this?"</p><p>"I am. I really am." Thinking this is all still part of the game, my tone is cavalier, placating, unabashedly one-track-minded. That all changes when the husk I'm anticipating in Vivienne's voice is absent, in its place a soft sort of hesitance as she takes her time choosing precise words.</p><p>'I know this isn't a heist and Casilda's not a mark, but after how things went south with Inez, I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to take back control in a less . . . life or death situation. If you'll have me, I'll sit in over the earpiece while you woo your way into another exhibit hall." I'm taken aback, acknowledged and touched in a way I hadn't realized I needed until Vivienne put her finger on it. Being duped, being so <em>utterly</em> wrong and disappointed in a person I used to respect so much . . . My judgment is shaken. I feel a flare of angry embarrassment -- no, shame -- flush up my throat at Vivienne's deadly accuracy. I play it off as deflective humor; I do pick up <em>some</em> things quicker than others.</p><p>"Willingly? While I flirt shamelessly with the key to my artistic future?"</p><p>"Mmm."</p><p>"And you'll behave?" My combativeness is gone as quickly as it's come, rationality kicking in.</p><p>(Vivienne hasn't done anything wrong. Vivienne is doing something unbelievably sweet. Vivienne is . . . Vivienne is up to something.)</p><p>As if cued by my thought, Vivienne hums again, only this time noncommittally. My eyes return to her hands.</p><p>"What's in the bag, Vivienne?"</p><p>Her smirk is deliciously guilty and so hypnotically red, it takes me a moment to realize she's already showing me until I feel the silk bag whisper against my knee, fallen away from pink silicone. In Vivienne's hand is a shaped mold, no larger than her palm, and as she cups and turns it with rotating fingers in display, I see the various dips and ridges meant to spoon intimately against a vulva. </p><p>"If you <em>wanted</em> to find a better way of saying thank you, I might have ideas . . ." Vivienne presents the silicone toy between us, the backs of her fingers radiating warmth where they rest against my navel. My stomach is tight, both from Vivienne's pressure and my own efforts to keep myself propped up. It aches on the border of pleasure and pain, but I keep upright on my elbows and explore the device for myself curiously. </p><p>The silicone is cool to the touch, but I notice it retains heat where stroked. It's also incredibly yielding, except in two places where the bumps and ridges have been given particular rigidity. I flush, realizing I'm tracing the patterns intended to titillate a clitoris, and feel honed heat at my own as if through transference. Vivienne's words sear with potency in my memory.</p><p>(Sex really is in the mind.)</p><p>"O-Oh?" I ask, so smoothly I see Vivienne straining to stifle a laugh. Instead, she concentrates on flipping the device, pressing firmly against a power sign groove in the silicone. She anticipates it, but I jump in my skin as the toy begins to vibrate. </p><p>"I want you to wear this for me, during." My eye draw up from her palm. I feel the heat in my ears right before my throat goes dry.</p><p>"With--"</p><p>"--Casilda, yes." </p><p>"<em>Vivienne!</em>" Again she can't read me, though honestly, neither can I in this moment.  I'm both red hot and guilty at the idea of involving an unwitting third party. Especially one I intend to work with in the future. </p><p>Vivienne is not as confident in this proposition as others. I can see in her body language before she even moves to turn the device off that she was uncertain about toeing this line with me from the beginning. My hand intercedes before her finger can press the power button, sliding beneath her touch like a runner stealing home base.</p><p>"I . . . oh wow, does it just keep going like this, unrelenting?" I try to find the words to tell Vivienne to give me a moment to collect my thoughts, but now that my hand is steadfast against the toy, the monotonous vibration is all I can focus on. </p><p>"No," Vivienne reassures me, passing the toy into my possession. I accept it on reflex and hold it for a baffled second before Vivienne clamshells both my hands around it. The mound of the heel fills my palm fully. The ridges hum against my fingertips. I close my eyes and gasp, discovering a new appreciation for the unwavering rhythm right before it changes. A new pattern starts, and my eyes fly open delightedly to report as such to Vivienne. She already knows; she's smiling at me, an egg-shaped remote held high between her fingers. She gives it a click and the pattern changes again, a variation of building speed, then a sheer cease. Rinse, repeat. I shudder, knowing the things Vivienne could make me do on that setting alone. "I assure you, it does a lot more than that."</p><p>Vivienne's voice is dark with confidence again, now that she knows she has me. She's been atop me this whole time, and I realize now that was by design. As Shakira says, my hips don't lie. Perched atop me, she's felt my every twitch between the vice of her thighs. The heat of her pulls deep against me as she leans across my torso and drips honey in my ear.</p><p>"Take me with you, Eloise. I'll be good, I swear it. I'll be <em>so</em> good."</p><p>My hand tangles in her hair. There's nothing more I want than to shove her lips to mine until my next masterpiece is smeared across both our faces. My eyes scream as such as I beckon her back to meet my gaze, where my conflict plays unmasked. Her smile is almost sympathetic, if it weren't so simultaneously triumphant. That's okay. I wipe it off her face the second her weight eases up on me, enough for me to slip my palm between our legs. I press the full of the vibrator over my skirt tight against me, and I think Vivienne forgets she's clutching the remote, because I feel a spastic rotation of vibrations ripple against me before hearing the soft thud of something hit the mattress, accompanied by Vivienne cursing, "mon dieu ", under a shaky breath.</p><p>"Convince me," I demand on the tail end of a sharp inhale, biting my lip to keep my words in focus. "Teach me how, one more time."</p><p>The mode the toy is left on is a maddeningly-soft purr. It's probably delicious skin-to-skin, but muffled through two layers of cloth, it has me increasing the pressure with an insistent knead. Vivienne cannot stand it. Being this close. Riding my hips as they rise to my own pleasuring. She finds the remote with a groping palm and gives me a robust thrum I am not at all expecting. I buck hard and cry out and move to pull the toy away, but Vivienne's fingers pin mine to the sheets before they take over cupping the vibrator firm against me. She resettles her weight atop my hips until she's saddled flush against the back of her own wrist. There she rocks a teasing rhythm to agonize the both of us, chasing the echoes of my vibrations.</p><p>I try to hold out longer than Vivienne, but the sight of her moaning my name to the ceiling has me biting back hers in a cry as I come undone beneath her. I think she denies herself until she's made me come a second time, because she follows almost immediately after me. I feel her kill the power, then place the toy somewhere outside of our immediate concern before I welcome her head to my chest with a soothing press.</p><p>"Thank you," I exhale blissfully against her hair. I feel more than hear Vivienne laugh, deep in her throat.</p><p>"You don't have to thank me for it."</p><p>"No, Vivienne, I <em>want</em> to <em>thank you</em>," I repeat again with patient emphasis. Vivienne relinquishes her perfect curl into my chest to gaze up at me, blinking. She catches on at the sight of my growing smile with one of her own, cheeks reddening.</p><p>"Oh! You're very welcome."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Vibe Check</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Vibe check," I hear, sultry and purring in my ear. The sound of her so deep and sudden in my head would be enough on its own to make me jolt, but Vivienne's voice is also accompanied by a thrilling buzz between my legs. It's Vivienne's parting token, the vibrating panty insert she pre-warmed and hand-fitted against me literal seconds before we stepped out of our Barcelona bedroom, leaving me behind against the wall to button myself back up. The buzzing is brief, like a vibrating notification on my phone. A reminder of who I belong to. A vie for my attention.</p><p>I perk up, looking for Vivienne, feeling her not just between my legs but at the nape of my neck as my hairs raise. I twist this way and that in my seat to locate her, until finally the only thing to do is stand and turn around. But before I can, I here Vivienne's command.</p><p>"Stop." I'd only just begun to rise from my seat, and now hover above it in an aching feat of core strength, taking Vivienne's command perhaps a bit too literally. "Stay seated. I'm directly at your back, darling. Don't look. Just know I've found the most exquisite line of sight and am thrilled to find our, ah, equipment is in order." My ears burn.</p><p>"You could see my reaction from . . . from there?" (Wherever <em>"there"</em> is.)</p><p>Now that I am not allowed, I want even more to whirl around, to know exactly the distance between Vivienne and I. To know what she looks like, admiring me unguarded in the broad, morning daylight. To see what she's drinking, if she's drinking -- and if so, is it alcoholic, or am I her only source of intoxication? Is she indulging in a sweet morning pastry, or is this morning for <em>stoking</em> appetites only?</p><p>Vivienne's laugh is softly amused. "Yes. Do I need to give you another taste to adjust?" Her tone is lightly teasing, but she also awaits my answer, genuinely asking. I rise to her goad and huff, beginning to shake my head before catching myself -- but not before I catch another patron eye me with some concern. I reach for my water and talk into it as I mime taking a sip, trying not to look like I'm holding an animated conversation with my imaginary friend.</p><p>"<em>No.</em> You just caught me off-guard. I <em>am</em> a little nervous, y'know. I'm about to have my portfolio gutted over mimosas."</p><p>"You are about to receive a heap of well-earned praise and recognition, and this slice is all yours. So enjoy it, amor, and I'll . . ." she sends me another hum, three seconds then gone, her words taking on an almost preening edge as I stay stock-still through it, "mm, I will enjoy <em>you</em>."</p><p>(Well, when you put it that way . . .)</p><p>"Vivienne?" She hums for me to continue. "Thank you again for believing in me."</p><p>"I trust what I see, amor. Now hush, you have company arriving. And Eloise?" I expect another buzz between my legs, accompanied by a declaration of possession. Vivienne Always-Three-Steps-Ahead Tang says, "I love you," instead, and it physically hurts to have to swallow my echoed sentiment in my own throat, my eyes landing on the purposeful approach of a woman who knows what an 18x24 portfolio bag looks like. She smiles as our eyes meet, raising her hand in a wave before those same slim fingers are working her purse strap off her shoulder and slinging it over a chair. She claims the seat directly across from me and I am instantly and enviously aware that Casilda now has an unencumbered view of Vivienne, if she only cared to look. How her eyes aren't drawn to her as an acquaintance, let alone at all as the most magnetic woman in any room, baffles me.</p><p>(Is Vivienne in disguise?)</p><p>But I have no time to linger. I stand to shake Casilda's hand and introduce myself properly, choosing to do so in the Spanish accent I've been honing against Vivienne's formal training. Casilda is visibly thrilled, then with good-natured suspicion asks me to say something, <em>anything</em> else. I delight her by reciting some Rosalía de Castro in its original Spanish, proving myself fluent. She claps her hands together and brings them to her chest, doubly moved by my taste in poets as she finishes the stanza with me.</p><p>"Such forlorn sentiment! I would not have thought you a fan of her poetry, what with the vivacity that permeates your own work." </p><p>We eventually remember we have seats and take them as we continue talking, the waiter gliding from seemingly out of nowhere to fill Casilda's water glass and to hand us both breakfast menus. Casilda plucks the drink menu from the centerpiece instead, giving it a cursory glance.</p><p>"Would you split a bottle of wine with me? It's just so much cheaper by the bottle . . . and I would hate to drink alone."</p><p>"A novice's lubrication," I hear Vivienne's unimpressed mutter in my ear, her first words since Casilda entered the scene.</p><p>(Jealous, darling?)</p><p>"Oh, sure! I'm all about day-drinking!" I say brightly, reaching for the wine menu with an enthusiasm that makes Casilda perk up and pass it right over.</p><p>"You would never know I was your mentor, the way you encourage your marks so readily." Vivienne says with an almost academic curiosity. "You're so . . ."</p><p>"Easy?" I finish for her, forgetting my surroundings for a second. I can't help but tense when I realize what I've done -- out loud -- simultaneously bringing up the menu and embarrassingly peeking past it at Casilda.</p><p>"Pardon?" says Casilda.</p><p>"So easy," confirms Vivienne smugly.</p><p>Thinking fast on my feet, I come out of hiding with a sheepish grin, returning the menu to its placard at the center of the table. "Heard that, huh? I was just musing over something . . ." I trail off to gauge Casilda's interest. It is more than polite, genuinely intrigued and invested, so I reward her again with a grin, knowing it'll exasperate Vivienne further. "Just something my agent said, how I shouldn't be intimidated meeting you because my work speaks for itself. 'It'll be easy,' she assured me." I snort and roll my eyes. Casilda is vaguely pleased, and hanging on to my every word.</p><p>(I just make hard to get look easy, baby.)</p><p>"She didn't take into account how attractive I would find you." It's not a lie. Casilda is a head-turner, and with the immaculate bun she keeps her chestnut locks in, also puts off some wicked disciplinarian vibes. "And now you want to split a bottle of wine. Easy," I repeat with a giggle, re-arriving to the butt of the gaffe. "Easy breezy."</p><p>Casilda is delighted by the perfect stick of my landing, face illuminating with a truly flattered confidence I can tell is rare for her to come by. I swallow, reminding myself to reel it back -- for Casilda's sake. She doesn't need to be infatuated with me; just my art. </p><p>(Though one could argue, what's the difference?)</p><p>"Oh! I didn't even-- I'm sorry, I didn't think of it that way. Brunch, with another. . . woman. That is, I would never think of you that way. I am very flattered, though, my goodness!" She looks apologetic, nervous, hinging on my response. I don't let her twist in the wind.</p><p>"Good! My admiration is free, so long as you don't mind me giving it. I expect nothing else but our business at hand. That and a good bottle of wine." I wink, and usually this is where I reach over and blanket her hand, but I fold mine neatly in my lap instead, a clear show of respect for her boundaries. She smiles wide, put at ease and pleased not to have hurt my feelings.</p><p>"Red or white?"</p><p>I blank momentarily. Red is such a specific word in my vernacular my mind floods with close-ups of Vivienne. Her lips. Her nails. Her cape. The constant, smoldering fire in the coals of her eyes. </p><p>A pulse I can describe only as the expectant drumming of fingers ripples up and down my arousal. It takes everything in me not to gasp. Casilda is asking me about wine. Vivienne is asking if I'm still game. I answer them both.</p><p>"White, don't you think? Or we could go wild and get a pitcher of sangria instead. If you <em>eat</em> your alcohol, it's technically not day-<em>drinking</em>, right?" The idle massage gives way to a low, focused buzz that makes me straighten in my seat instantly. I play it off as celebration, pleased and preening as Casilda agrees and places the order with the returning waiter.</p><p>"Now, while we wait, to business, shall we?" I pass my portfolio over to Casilda beneath the table at her request; it's easiest for her to reach in and pull a stack or a sketchbook at a time, rather than to try and unpack three years of my most recent work atop the table to the mercy of the breeze. Her silent, thorough observation continues for so long, I begin to wish she had waited for our drinks to arrive. I drink my water instead, down to the ice, anything to keep my hands busy. Vivienne is oddly quiet -- and still. She hasn't teased me once since the portfolio passed hands. I could <em>really</em> use her distraction when Casilda finally comes back up for air, readjusting her bifocals. She wears a vague smile, but I can't tell if it's meant to soften a blow or simply the quiet way she shows approval with how flitting and far-off her eyes seem still.</p><p>The waiter returns too late to be of help, yet somehow early enough to absolutely wreck my nerves, stalling Casilda's evaluation as she thanks him and offers to pour us our drinks. Thankfully, she hands mine over first. I clasp the tall tumbler between laced fingers, reminding myself not to dive in, there is a lady present. This queer etiquette doesn't occur to Casilda, who takes a sip right off the top of her drink the second the pitcher is back between us. </p><p>(Oh. Cool.)</p><p>I take a healthy swallow, making sure to coax a blueberry into my mouth. I burst it between my teeth, tongue running awash with sweet spirits that lift mine. Never one to let me have my relief for too long, Vivienne hums both in my ear and between my legs.</p><p>"Relax, Eloise. You're so keyed up, you can't see what is right in front of you."</p><p>(And YOU are NOT HELPING, VIVIENNE!)</p><p>"She is positively smitten with your work. She's buying time to compose her thoughts, you'll see."</p><p>I squirm in my seat, stomach tightening as the alcohol tag-teams with the vibrator, heightening sensations by the second. I <em>hear</em> my blood flow shift in the cavity of my ear where the earpiece is nestled, rushing south at a pattering double-time. Casilda mistakes my spike of pleasure for antsiness and laughs. And <em>that</em> does something for me, too, Miss Untouchable Gatekeeper in that oh-so-touchable pencil skirt, finding mirth in my eagerness for resolution.</p><p>"Mm, there is a lot to break down here, but let me alleviate those worry lines of yours and preface by saying I am so pleased we both took this meeting." I visibly exhale, then dramatically wipe my fingers across my brow in a mime of flicking sweat. Casilda laughs again, then shunts the centerpiece and unused utensils to one edge of the table, making room to present pieces of my portfolio between us. She is as generous with her hands as her compliments as she speaks, tracing the ink of my line work, stroking gradients and color clusters she particularly enjoys, appreciating it in such a tactile way I <em>know</em> she's worked with these mediums herself.</p><p>With every new work Casilda brings to the table, Vivienne varies the rhythm and speed of the vibrator, cooing intermittently words of affirmation that light me up as much, if not more than the physical stimulation itself. Words like "see?" and "I told you so", but also "you've earned this" and "you're so worthy". I've been a heartbeat away from my safe word for a hundred heartbeats and counting, my head, heart and . . . other head so inflated each feel fit to burst. But it feels too <em>good</em> to give up <em>any</em> of it; I know this perfect storm is temporary, and so I bite my lip and master myself, not wanting a second less than I <em>deserve</em>.</p><p>Eventually it's all I can do to focus on Vivienne's words alone, Casilda's continuing praise droning out into a hum not oddly coinciding with the whimsical pulse-hum patterns Vivienne croons to me with.</p><p>Though they're perfectly clean, I dab my lips with my napkin, then move to return the napkin to my lap. My hands don't return above the table. Instead, I grip either side of my seat, slowly, deliberately, <em>knowing</em> Vivienne is watching my nails dig into the wicker.</p><p>"Fuck . . ." I hear raggedly in crass English, can also hear the bob of Vivienne's throat as she swallows the jagged whisper harshly. She doesn't speak to me after that, anything she has to say best summed up with the press of a button. Her insistence is nearly unbearable. My inner thighs are trembling with the effort to remain nonplussed; my world is beginning to unfocus into hazy clumps of color.</p><p>(Say 'red' before you scream it. Say red before you--)</p><p>Casilda's ringtone goes off, a jarring, foreign thing among the smoke of her accent and the screaming rush of my pulse. She pardons herself and asks if she can take the call, answering only after I've nodded dumbly. Vivienne brings the steady strum of the vibrator down to a frustrating murmur, so abruptly I have to grind my heel into the cobblestone to keep from groaning my protest aloud. But it does help me regain some clarity, which I realize I need as Casilda is standing and gathering her own belongings, having just dropped the call. Her smile is apologetic as she slides my portfolio back to me.</p><p>"I'm afraid I am needed elsewhere, Miss Cormier." As Casilda speaks, she flags the waiter. "The check is, of course, my treat, as was your portfolio." The waiter arrives, looking concerned, before Casilda hands him more than enough euro to cover the bill, instructing him to keep the rest. Beaming, he busses Casilda's place setting and makes himself scarce. "I slipped my information in with your things and I already have yours. We will most certainly be in contact. But for now, as I understand, you will be in Paris?</p><p>"Ah. Yes, is that--?"</p><p>"A non-issue. Many of my featured artists are vagabonds. I simply want to wish you safe travels, Miss Cormier, and to thank you again for this opportunity."</p><p>"Oh! No, thank <em>you</em>!" I snap to, mirroring Casilda's smile and stance as I scramble to my feet and accept her hand once more. I stay standing as I watch her disappear into the restaurant, only because it takes that long for me to remember my body again to sit it back down. I reach for my water, parched from adrenaline, and drink what little melt-off from the ice has accumulated.</p><p>And then I remember I can turn around. </p><p>I stand and whirl so fast, my knees catch the chair and make it warble before my hand instinctively steadies it. I need the grip as my eyes land on the table Vivienne <em>must have</em> sat at, now vacated save for a drained water glass and a pastry plate littered with crumbs. A single chair is angled out from beneath the table, and is pushed back in as a busser arrives to reset. When the busser picks up the glass, it catches the light with a brilliant gleam, and when that gleam fades, I notice the red lipstick at the glass' rim. A second later it is wiped away with the twist of a dish towel, as if Vivienne's lips had never been there.</p><p>"Nuh uh! <strong>No.</strong> <em>Please</em> tell me you're waiting for me in a nearby alleyway." My voice carries, startling a nearby couple who aren't quite certain I wasn't talking to them. I tap my ear and pull my phone from my pocket, wagging it to suggest I'm on a call. I don't really care what they think after that. I tuck my portfolio beneath my armpit and step off of the restaurant patio into the city streets, looking up and down them for any glimpse of Vivienne.</p><p>"No time, dulzura. We have a plane to catch. We really must be off." She has the audacity to set the vibrator humming again. I nearly misstep when my thighs clench, fortunately recovering my balance against a street lamp. I <em>definitely</em> moan, tapering off in a frustrated growl of her name.</p><p>"Vivienne, when I get my hands on you . . ." The threat isn't empty, I'm just undecided, every possibility flooding me at once with a gratification dangerously overwhelming if I dare to detail a single one.</p><p>". . . you'll what?" Vivienne fills the silence, her uneven breathing loudest of all. </p><p>(I can't. The words. With, and stringing. For coherency.)</p><p>"<em>Eloise</em>." The sound of my name, caressing and snatching all at once, could take me over now if I let it, but it's the underlining command in it that bids me stop. The vibrator ceases when I give her a throaty  noise of acknowledgement. "I'm arranging us a taxi. I'll have it pulled to the curb of the restaurant. Why don't you step inside and freshen up? Stow away the toy and I'll put something nicer between your legs."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>When I read Vivienne's route, whichever episode in season 4 where it ends on the cliffhanger of Vivienne ensuring MC's meet with Inez will be fun for her, -this- is where my mind jumped. A wireless, vibrating panty insert. So yeah. That's basically the seed of this entire fic, which means it's -technically- concluded. But. But clearly it's not, and if you agree you ought let me know in the comments.</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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